




On a night like this, one’s thoughts in Shetland turn, inevitably (and in our case with considerable guilt) to the peat hill. Three banks cut (not by us – our friend Lornie did the heavy tushker work), half-raised (by us, slowly) and drying out so fast in this weather that nearly everyone else has their peats bagged and home.
It’s back-breaking toil, with only a few minutes’ winter fuel in every single turf turned. But with the new Haas und Sohn stove, and the price of oil…we’re not alone in making a commitment to local carbon fuels this summer. And before you make accusations of profligate carbon abuse, remember this is (in Shetland’s case) a local (a mile away) fuel and in almost infinite supply if not extracted commercially.
So to the peat hill. Susan insisted that my shorts-and-red-All-Stars mid-life crisis get-up be recorded. Fashion statements are crucial on the hill. And then she went kayaking…

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